a'^f^r^jf^^ 

LIBRARY 

P  OF  THE  ^ 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA, 


GIFT  OF 

GEORGE  MOREY  RICHARDSON. 

ij 

Received,  ^August,  1898. 


|  ^Accession  No.  %  %  0  f     Class  No.  .^2'^  ..... 
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OP  THB 

UNIVERSITY 


EXETER, 

SCHOOLDAYS 

AND 

OTHER     POEMS 

BY 

SEYMOUR    I.    HUDGENS 


EUustratetJ 

^^^  \    \  t5  •  »  A  /^ 

OF  THE 

I  UNIVERSITY 


CAMBRIDGE,    MASS. 
MOSES     KING,     PUBLISHER 

HARVARD   SQUARE 


COPYRIGHT  BY 

SEYMOUR  I.  HUDGENS,.  CAMBRIDGE. 
1882.  . 


Franklin  Press: 

Stereotyped  and  Printed  by 

Rand,  Avery,  &  Co., 

Boston. 


TO   HIS   EXCELLENCY 

CHARLES    HENRY    BELL,   LL.D. 

©obmtor  of  $efo  ^ampsfjirc 

THESE  POEMS  ARE  INSCRIBED 
BY  THE  AUTHOR 


HPHE  poems  here  collected,  with  the  exception 
of  two    of  the   shorter  ones,   were  written 
before  coming  to  college. 

CAMBRIDGE,  May,  1882. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

EXETER ll 

SCHOOLDAYS •        •        43 

4       A  VISION    -.-..•"•. 79 

EDITH •       '  •'      *        84 

LOVED  ISLE        ^      .       ....       .       •        •        .88 

REMEMBRANCE         .  9° 

A  REPLY      .        .        .        ...        •        •        •        •        -94 

MARY 97 

CREW  SONG         .       .       .       .       •       •        •        •        -99 

GATHERING  FAGOTS IO1 

MY  LOVE   .        .        .       . I03 

HARVEST  FESTIVAL       .        .        .  •       •       •        105 

MY  ANGEL  SLEEPS    .       .       .       ...        .        .107 

'Tis  SWEET     .        .        .        .       .       .       ...        •        109 

LONGING IIJ 

EPIGRAM "3 


EXETER. 


Ah,  happy  hills  /  ah,  pleasing  shade  ! 

Ah,  fields  beloved  in  vain  ! 

Where  once  my  careless  childhood  strayed, 

A  stranger  yet  to  pain, 

I  feel  the  gales  that  from  ye  blow 

A  momentary  bliss  bestow, 

As,  waving  fresh  their  gladsome  wing, 

My  weary  soul  they  seem  to  soothe, 

And,  redolent  of  joy  and  youth, 

To  breathe  a  second  spring. 

GRAY. 


EXETER. 

T   WATCH  the  sea-fog  as  it  westward  floats, 

Spreading  its  ghostly  sheet  and  wizard  coats 
O'er  hill  and  dale;    now  sifting,  falling  through 
The  vaulted  aisles  of  forests  dark  and  blue ; 
Now  hanging  o'er,  with  winding-sheet,  yon  stream 
That  slowly  moves,  silvered  by  morning's  beam. 
To  Stratham  Hill  it  sweeps,  and  lingers  on 
Great  Bay,  and  softly  puts  its  ringers  on 
That  beauteous  landscape  stretching  to  the  sea. 
Yon  schooners  lie  in  fast  security; 
The  ponderous  anchor  slips  the  cat-head's  hold, 
And,  plunging,  seeks  its  bed  in  ocean's  fold; 
While  loud  and  shrill  the   jarring  cable  rings. 
The  halyards  freed,  the  falling  block  now  sings 


12  EXETER. 

A  song  the  seaman  loves;   the  gallant  ships 
Are  sleeping  on  old  Ocean's  azure  lips. 
No  canvas  flouts  the  slowly  moving  breeze  ; 
No  storm  holds  rule,  the  sailors  are  at  ease; 
No  weird  yet  lovely  music  rises  from 
The  harp-strings  of  the  mast,  by  tempest's  palm 
Sublimely  struck;   the  boatmen's  roundelay, 
How  sharp  and  clear  it  strikes  along  the  bay  ! 
How  distant  woods  and  hills  give  back  the  song  ! 
How  clear  it  floats  the  verdant  vale  along ! 
The  lightly  dipping  oar,  the  hoarse,  dull  tone 
The  rowlocks  give,  is  music  sweet  alone. 
But  hark  !   the  beating  of  the  oar  now  nears 
The  strand,  a  huge,  gigantic  form  appears; 
The  yawl,  wrapt  round  by  misty  halo,  rides 
Upon  the  sandy  beach,  beneath  the  tides. 
The  followers  of  the  watery  deep  step  forth 
Like  fabled  giants  of  the  savage  north. 
The  wondering  swains  in  silence  crowd  around ; 
To  each  the  other  is  a  sight  profound. 


EXETER.  13 

These  gaze  upon  the  genii  of  the  deep, 
While  those  a  million  rapturous  wonders  steep. 


Now  day  in  radiant  splendor  wakes  to  view; 
The  sea-mist  settles  as  refreshing  dew; 
The  hamlet  near  this  hill's  declining  base 
Is  waking  to  the  spring  day's  glad  embrace ; 
The  Isles  of  Shoals,  in  pearly,  radiant  light, 
Give  back  its  warm,  rich  glow,  in  splendor  dight; 
The  shrouded  Ocean  sleeps  his  robe  beneath  ; 
Far  eastward,  with  the  blue  sea  as  its  sheath, 
Boar's  Head  stands  jutting  in  the  azure  wave ; 
Beyond,  Cape  Ann  with  dusk  the  east  doth  pave ; 
Dark  Agamenticus  a  sentinel  stands 
Where  days  of  yore  saw  signals  r  light  the  strand's 
Indented,  curving  shore.     From  this  high  place 
I  see  White  Mountains  gild  the  northern  space. 


1  An  allusion  to  watch-fires  kept  on  the  highest  hills  during  the  wars 
with  England. 


14  EXETER. 

And,  England,  rememberest  thou  the  fires  among 
These  northern  hills,  their  summits  bold  along? 
Rememberest  thou  the  gleams  of  fiercest  light 
That    called    from    out     their    base,    in    freedom's 

night, 

Volcanoes  of  the  blasting  flame  that  kept 
With  fiery  wave  thy  haughty  minions,  swept 
Thy  hosts  unto  the  ocean's  barren  shore? 
That  scorched  thy  insolence,  to  rise  no  more 
On  Freedom's  continent,  this  northern  shore? 
The  North,  in  sooth,  forever  shall  be  free, 
And  there  the  standards  wave  of  liberty. 
Oppression  is  a  savage  beast,  that  thrives 
In  southern  climes,  there  grasps  its  victimed  lives,  — 
The  Israelite  along  the  torrid  Nile, 
And  Carthage,  with  its  slowly  wasting  pile 
Destroyed  by  Roman  legions  from  the  North, 
Where  Freedom's  standard  ever  cometh  forth; 
The  Tartar,  scaling  China's  endless  walls, 
And  proudly  ruling  in  her  emperor's  halls; 


OF  THK 

UNIVERSITT 


EXETER. 

The  Huns  in  black  destruction  sweeping  o'er 
The  Roman  front.,  in  fiercest  clouds  of  war 
Now  issuing  from,  in  tides,  their  northern  home ; 
The  Vandal  and  the  Gaul  o'ercoming  Rome; 
The  childlike  Aztec,  in  his  torrid  zone, 
The  haughty  Spaniard  rules  on  iron  throne; 
And  Mexico's,  the  Inca's,  idle  gold, 
Castilian  sons  did  keep  in  fastest  hold. 

The  sun  is  high,  the  breeze  is  fair,  the  bay, 
Late  pillowed  on  the  strand,  now  dances  gay, 
And  curling  ripples  o'er  its  bosom  play. 
Huzza!    the  yachts  are  out,  the  sails  are  set, 
Their  keels  the  dimpling  surface  gently  fret, 
And  freshening  winds  and  azure  waves  are  met, 
That  late  lay  lulled  in  rest  beneath  their  side. 
How  like  a  thing  of  life  each  boat  doth  ride  ! 
How  music  sweet  and  curling  waters  meet ! 
How  ride  they  onward  down  the  purple  bay  ! 
How  streaming  pennants  at  their  mast-heads  play  ! 


1 6  EXETER. 

How  part  the  waters  'neath  their  pointed  bows  ! 
What  gentle  furrows  track  these  salt-sea  ploughs  ! 

But  hark  !   what  sounds  are   these  that   strike   mine 

ear? 

It  is  the  far-off  bells  that  quickly  sear 
With  gloom  my  spirit,  quaffing  long  and  deep 
At  Nature's  fount,  where  ne'er  I  fall  asleep. 
It  is  the  academic  bells  that  peal; 
Those  sweet  yet  melancholy  notes,  they  steal 
Along  the  river's  valley,  up  the  vales 
They  murmur,  float  from  hill  to  hill,  nor  fails 
Each  note  to  stir  the  sluggish  blood  that  flows 
The  dreamer's  veins  along.     But  speak,  who  knows, 
Or  thinks  he  knows,  the  idler's  mind  and  heart. 
To  the  same  end  are  many  ways;   nor  start, 
Great  mind,  sublimely  wise,  if  Nature's  law 
Transcends  thy  petty  own,  and  mild  doth  draw 
With  silver  chord  her  pupil  to  the  goal. 
For  some  'twere  better  far  for  mind  and  soul 


EXETER.  17 

To  closely  follow  devious  plodding  ways ; 
Of  some,  the  panting  soul  that  fires  and  sways 
The  mind  and  heart  will  balk  or  pine,  nor  drink 
But  where  sage  instinct  points  to  wisdom's  brink. 

I  seek  for  shaded  walks,  and  turn  my  way 
Toward  the  Eddy,  where  rippling  waters  play, — 
Blessed  spot,  where  sacred  memories  long  will  twine ; 
Blessed  waters,  flowing  'neath  thy  grove  of  pine; 
Blessed  stream,  that  whispers  quiet  to  the  ear; 
Blessed  river,  winding,  flowing,  rolling  here, 
Where  nought  intrudes,  and  all  we  love's  sincere. 
In  sadness'  and  in  gladness'  hour  thy  wave 
Hast  been  a  friend  to  me ;    and  nothing,  save 
The  effacing  hand  of  Time,  from  memory's  page 
Shall  tear  thy  mirrored   form  in  life's  pilgrimage. 
Sweet  Exeter,  so  gently  flowing  to 
The  sea  'mid  woods  and  meads  that  seem  to  woo 
Thee  to  their  fond  embrace,  and  kiss  thy  wave ; 
Sweet  Exeter,  upon  whose  placid  face 
The  fern-beds  waft  their  breath,  thy  beauty  grace, 


1 8  EXE  TER. 

Along  whose  bank  the  partridge  drums  his  note, 

Adown  whose  wave  the  rowboats  idly  float; 

Sweet  river,  winding,  rolling,  to  the  sea, 

Accept  this  pensive,  idle  song  from  me. 

Four  long,  long  years  I've  strolled  along  thy  tide. 

Adieu,  loved  stream  !    adieu,  them  forest's  bride  ! 

Adieu,  ye  hoary  pines  that  kiss  the  sky  ! 

Adieu,  ye  monarch  trees  that  wave  on  high  ! 

Adieu,  thou  cool-lipped  stream,  with  sparkling  tide, 

That  slowly  trickles  to  the  river's  side  ! 

And  here  the  schoolboys  carve  their  letters  bold, 

And  think,  forsooth,  'twill  live  when  they  are  old. 

How  deeply  I  have  loved  thy  moonlight  face, 

Nor  less  thy  sombre  mien  when  clouds  do  chase 

Grim  shadows  o'er  thy  placid,  sleeping  breast ! 

But  most  thou'rt  dear  to  me  when  heaven  is  dressed 

In  diamond  robes,  when  all  below  reflect 

Those  gems  above,  thy  wave  with  stars  bespecked. 

'Tis  then  the  whippoorwill  attunes  his  lay; 

'Tis  then,  when  stars  take  on  their  brightest  ray, 

He  wakes  his  song  to  sweetest  melody. 


EXETER.  IQ 

These  oaks,  whose  rugged  branches  lean  them  o'er, 
And  glass  their  forms  upon  the  watery  floor 
That  lies  beneath  their  feet,  fond  sports  have  seen. 
Ye  old,  storm-beaten  oaks  that  deck  the  green 
Below,  and  rear  aloft  your  monarch  heads 
Unto  the  sky,  whose  base  the  student  treads, 
Ye  noble  forest  trees  now  marked  by  Time's 
Rough  hand,  repeat  to  us  from  different  climes 
The    sportive    bands   that   years,   long    years,   ye've 

seen; 

Tell  of  the  silver  locks  upon  this  green, 
Perchance,  that  time   has   brought.     Ah  !  would   ye 

tell 

The  tale  their  wrinkled  brows  repeat?     'Tis  well. 
The  Fates  do  kindly  hide  their  dark  decree. 
Let  youth  light  up  with  joy  what  ne'er  may  be, 
And  let  the  giddy  thought  dash  gayly  on, 
And  let  the  throbbing  pulse  run  daily  on ; 
Too  soon  the  crimson  current  slacks  its  pace ; 
Too  soon  the  fiery  thought  to  age  gives  place. 


20  EXETER. 

In  youth  or  age  'tis  all  the  same,  ye  trees 
That  lean  above  the  tide,  ye  greet  the  knees 
That  tottering  seek  your  shade;    ye  wear  a  gown 
As    bright    as    when    in    youth    they    reached    this 

town ; 

Ye  give  in  echoes  clear  the  music  sweet 
That  rises  from  this  moonlight  deep,  ye  greet 
With  joy  the  homeward-floating  skiff,  ye  list 
The  rowlock's  moan  above  the  river's  mist ; 
The  lightly  dipping  oar,  perchance  a  white 
Sail  set,  the  dusky  forms  that  many  a  night 
Glide  softly  by,  the  oar  at  rest,  —  ye've  seen, 
Ye  mighty  monarchs,  standing  on  this  green. 

Now,  up  from  meadows  sweet  with  May  or  June, 
The  bobolinks,  on  fluttering  wings,  attune 
Their  medley  song,  their  sweetest,  wildest  lay; 
The  thicket-thrush  salutes  the  waning  day; 
And  in  the  distance  robins  warble  forth 
Their  vesper-songs  in  gardens  at  the  north. 


EXETER.  21 

The  gnarled  "  Oaks  "  preferred  by  these,  while  those 
Descend  to  "Stony  Point,"  where  gently  flows 
Piscataqua,  declining  to  the  sea. 
The  fisherman  his  craft  with  energy 
There  sculls,  surcharged  anew  with  finny  spoil, 
Now  rows  against  the  seaward  tide  with  toil, 
Now  slowly  beats  his  way  against  the  breeze. 
Yon  schooner  now  is  riding  at  her  ease ; 
Her  sails  are  closely  furled,  her  voyage  o'er, 
The  storm-tossed  farers  of  the  deep  on  shore. 

'Tis  eve :   the  sombre  veil  that  shades  the  east 
Is  rising  high.     Not  yet  hath  wholly  ceased 
The  rule  of  waning  day;   but  gently  falls 
The  softening  shade  of  night,  as  in  these  halls 
Of  death  alone  I  tread;   the  whippoorwill 
Has  strung  his  nightly  lyre,  the  soul  to  fill 
With  pensive  song ;   the  beetle's  drowsy  flight 
Now  fills  the  evening  air ;   nor  yet  hath  night 
With  sombre  wing  o'erspread  this  pensive  scene ; 


EXETER. 

Where  all  is  quiet,  peace,  and  life  serene;  — 
On  yonder  hill  the  farmer's  home  is  seen. 
And  here  was  borne  the  honored  teacher,  slow 
And  sadly,  to  his  aged  tomb;    below 
These  whispering  pines  and  elms  he  lies  in  rest, 
Where  nought  of  flesh  or  earth  can  more  molest. 
And  slowly,  slowly,  tolled  the  old  church-bell; 
And  sadly,  sadly,  rung  his  parting  knell; 
And  sad  and  slow  the  mourners  rustled  by. 

When  wreaths  upon  the  soldier's  grave  make  fair 
His  lowly  sleep,  regale  rich  summer's  air, 
A  tribute  to  two  graves  I  humbly  bear. 
The  teacher's  sacred  dust  by  taught  is  blessed, 
His  memory  treasured,  in  the  heart  caressed, 
When  mossy  tablets  rest  above  his  clay. 
Not  his  to  seek  the  Senate's  praise  :    his  day 
Of  glory,  when  his  pupils  tribute  bring 
To     him    who    poised    young     Science'     untrained 
wing, 


EXETER.  23 

Brought  down  the  heavenly  flame,  made  straight  the 

way, 

Sent  forth  disciples  into  new-born  day. 
And  here  distinction's  mark  hath  ceased :    the  high. 
The  low,  in  common  dust  together  lie. 
Man's  titles  and  his  power  —  what  are  they  now  ? 
Ambition,  wealth,  are  levelled  by  death's  plough. 
Beneath  one  grassy  turf  alike  they  sleep, 
And  now  the  drooping  willows  o'er  them  weep. 
Sweet  evening's  golden  gems  are  in  the  sky, 
The  distant  pines  resound  the  night-bird's  cry. 
Now  fades  yon  rural  landscape  into  night, 
And  sombre  darkness'  wing  shuts  out  the  sight : 
In  pensive  mood,  and  slow  advancing  tread, 
I  leave  for  aye  this  city  of  the  dead. 

'Tis  eve,  and  swelling  strains  of  music  greet 
The  lonely  wanderer  on  the  quiet  street. 
Those  outdoor  vespers  to  the  dying  day, 
The  merry  schoolboy's  joyous  vocal  lay; 


24  EXETER. 

The  flute  is  heard  upon  the  evening  air, — 
The  mellow,  low-voiced  flute,  the  schoolboy's  care. 
The  pale-faced  student  bends  above  his  task, 
Or  fills  with  midnight  oil  his  failing  flask, — 
Attempts  deep  learning's  mystery  to  unmask. 

The    scene    is    changed:    I    hear    the    hounds    that 

bay 

Upon  the  scent,  deep-mouthed,  this  leaden  day; 
The  lately-fallen  snow,  the  hunter's  glee, 
Gives  ecstasy  to  him,  delight  to  me. 
I  view  a  valley's  long,  majestic  sweep, 
And,  draining  this,  a  mighty  river  deep, 
Skirted  along  with  lofty,  various  wood, 
Where  oft  I've  roamed  in  melancholy  mood, 
When  autumn  winds  a  pensive  spirit  wooed; 
Where  summer  verdure  wears  her  richest  green, 
And  streamlets  flow  the  skirting  woods  between; 
Where  autumn  wears  her  long,  long,  dreamy  dress, 
And  Indian  summer  smiles  in  loveliness ; 


EXETER,  25 

Where  clustering  vineyards  clothe  the  southern  hills, 
Protected  from  the  winter's  blighting  chills ; 
Where  Dionysus  might  again  be  king, 
Teach  all  the  heavy  load  of  grief  to  fling, 
And  harmless  revel,  song,  and  joy  to  keep ; 
Where  boundless  flowering  meadows  rise  and  fall, 
Now  calm,  now  wildly  tossed  by  summer  squall. 

But  hark  !     Far  down  the  river's  sweeping  course 
They   come,  —  the   hounds,   the    men,   and    swiftest 

horse ; 

They  sweep  along  its  margin,  seek  each  trend ; 
Now  here,  now  there,  their  eager  course  they  bend. 
They  have  their  prey,  —  the  savage  wolf  or  fox,  — 
Nor  longeV  will  he  feed  upon  their  flocks. 
They  near  a  broad  estate,  where  ample  cheer 
From  larger  heart  and  board  is  always  near. 
They    feast    themselves,    the    horse,   and   well-spent 

hounds ; 
The  rustic  bowl  then  freely  goes  the  rounds, 


OF  THK 

UNIVERSITY 


26  EXETER. 

And  jolly  spirits,  joke,  and  comic  tale, 
Employ  the  huntsmen  erevvhile  from  the  vale. 
How  oft,  when  deepest  gloom  and  sorrow's  dart 
My  bitter  portion  seemed,  unto  thy  heart 
I've  fled  for  sympathy,  a  true  man's  cheer, 
And  oft  have  known  in  thee  a  feeling  tear  ! 
A  more  than  parent  often  thou  hast  been, 
Extended  sympathy  thy  home  within. 
A  mind  of  genius'  mould,  a  mighty  soul, 
Had  ample  learning  been  thy  lot,  —  a  roll 
Enduring  on  the  stage  of  life,  thou'dst  made ; 
And  since  in  need  you  aided  me,  and  stayed 
My  faltering  hand,  my  heart  doth  call  the  flight 
Of  fancy  wandering  from  her  visions  bright. 

The  tower-clocks  ring  out  their  wintry  song, 

That     waves     and     swells     in     echoes     sweet     and 

long; 

They  beat  pulsations  every  passing  hour, 
That  wake  the  country  round  with  solemn  power; 


UNIVERSITY 


EXETER.  27 

They  mark  the  ever  onward  pace  of  time, 
And  beat  the  distant  pines  in  measured  chime ; 
They  are  the  throbs  that  mark,  that  slowly  beat, 
The  farmer's  life,  the  swain's  retirement  sweet, 
Good  cheer  and  health  and  rest  the  fanner's  lot 
Where  peace  and  plenty  reign,  —  his  toils  forgot. 
His  golden  store  of  maize;    his  mows  that  groan 
With  loaded  hay,  his  meadows'  yearly  loan; 
His  winter's  store  of  autumn  fodder  bright; 
His  cider-mug,  that  cheers  the  wintry  night; 
His  varied  store  his  hardy  orchards  yield; 
His  rooty  products  from  the  autumn  field; 
His  stanchels  long,  where  well-kept  cattle  feed; 
His  woolly  fold,  safe  from  the  prowler's  greed; 
His  well-filled  dairy,  winter's  bounteous  store; 
His  glowing  fireplace,  never  asking  more; 
His  balanced  books ;    freedom  from  every  care ; 
His  self-complacent,  independent  air, — 
These  are  the  farmer's  own  well-earned  delights, 
That  give  contentment  to  his  wintry  nights. 


2#  EXETER 

Tis  morn:    this  ancient  town  is  clad  in  white, 
Fair  offspring  from  the  sombre  womb  of  night: 
Like  a  fair  bride  upon  her  wedding-day, 
She  stands  in  fleecy  robes  bedecked,  so  gay. 
But  ho  !    the  sun  is  rolling  from  the  pines : 
He  gilds  their  snowy  crests  with  golden  lines, 
And  casts  a  flood  of  light  upon  this  scene. 
Fantastic  stand  the  aged  elms  :   between 
Them  plod,  perchance,  the  country  team  adown 
The  snowy  vista's  length.     This  wintry  town 
Fantastic  stands,  with  arching,  vaulted  streets; 
In  bridal  dress  the  waking  day  she  greets. 
A  thousand  hearths  are  waking  into  life, 
A  thousand  homes  begin  existent  strife : 
The  sturdy  townsmen,  muffled  close  and  warm, 
File  out  to  clear  away  the  mighty  storm. 


And  yonder  lie  the  borough's  slumbering  dead, 
Enrobed  beneath  their  silent,  snowy  bed  ; 


EXETER. 


29 


Though  all  is  still,  yet  flaps  my  country's  trust 
Gently  and  slow  above  the  soldier's  dust; 
Her  banner's  faded  shreds  there  guard  his  sleep, 
As  through  the  sombre  pines  the  chill  winds   creep. 
Thou  emblem  of  the  free,  'tis  meet  to  wave 
Above  the  dead,  who,  living,  fearless  gave 
Their  all,  their  lives,  our  country's  life  to  save; 
Their  fittest  requiem  be  thy  rustling  folds 
Above  where  now  the  soldier's  body  moulds. 
And  may  thou  wave,  thou  banner  of  the  free, 
O'er  this  great  land,  and  o'er  surrounding  sea; 
Fling  wide  and  free  thy  beauteous  waving  form, 
Float  on  the  gentle  breeze  and  in  the  storm. 

'Tis  winter's  night;  and  learning's  halls  are  clad 
On  high  with  snowy  robes  of  light,  that  had 
Till  late  their  autumn  garb  :    their  gilded  vane 
Casts  back  the  moon's  full  light  o'er  many  a  pane. 
'Tis  cold :    but  merrily  now  ring  the  bells ; 
And  on  the  silver  air  their  music  swells. 


30  EXETER. 

And  to  the  spangled  sky  they  wildly  ring, 
And  to  the  startled  night  their  voices  fling. 
The  distant  pines  give  back  their  sweet  refrain, 
That  dances  o'er  the  whitened  meadow's  plain. 
Tis    cold;    yet    youth's    young   blood   is   throbbing 
high, 

And  asks  but  sport  to  quench  his  passions  dry. 

The  mettled  barb  is  brought,  all  nerved  for  speed  : 

Away,  away,  they  fly,  the  youth  and  steed; 

The  landscape  swims  before  his  dizzy  sight 

As  on  and  on  he  flies  into  the  night. 

And  there  and  then  was  sweetened  youthful  joy, 

And  there  and  then  the  charms  of  being  a  boy. 

O  youth!    can  Time  e'er  change  thy  rosy  hour? 

Will  ever  storms  of  darkness  o'er  thee  lower? 

Laugh  on,  nor  know  too  soon  the  woes  of  life ; 

Laugh  on,  nor  dwell  upon  the  coming  strife. 

Once  more  on  Stratham's  wind-swept   crest  I  stand, 
Once  more  these  wooded  vales  to  view  expand. 


EXETER.  31 

The  scene,  'tis  moonlight  now  (for  this  more  sweet)  ; 
Before  'twas  daylight's  scene  :    a  friend  did  greet 
Each  kindly  impulse  springing  from  the  scene. 
Tis  four  long  years,  long  years,  that  intervene. 
Tis  moonlight  on  the  waters  bright ;   each  star 
Upon  the  deep  is  imaged  from  afar; 
The  dews,  like  holy  incense  fill  the  air; 
Each  bls.de  and  leaf  is  gemmed  with  crystals  rare; 
And  music  sweet  is  on  the  moonlight  deep. 
The  rowboat's  slow  advancing,  measured  sweep 
Resounds  the  rowlock's  following,  hoarse  reply ; 
The  pale-faced  stars  have  lightly  kissed  the  wave ; 
The  swelling  tides  the  shores  declining  lave ; 
The  ploughman's  plodding  task  is  done,  and  o'er 
His  wearied  frame  sweet  slumber  rests  once  more. 
His  oxen,  ere  while  shambling  from  the  field, 
No  longer  'neath  their  massive  yoke  are  steeled, 
But,  freed  from  bondage  'fore  the  stubborn  share, 
Now  graze,  or  rest,  beneath  the  evening  air. 
The  cock's  shrill  note  is  hushed;    beneath  his  care, 


OF  THR 

TJNIVERSJ 

0f  r.T! 


32  EXETER. 

His  feathered  brood  is  lulled  to  deepest  rest, 
And  tinkling  folds  the  welcome  earth  have  pressed. 
The  latest,  lagging  wain,  from  upland  wood, 
Perchance,  now  homeward  threads  the  weary  road : 
The  hamlet's  spire  is  bathed  in  deepest  light, 
Its  angel-vane  now  stands  the  guard  of  night. 


There  is  a  beauteous  form  to  whom  I  would 
A  verse  or  two  indite ;    and  if  she  should 
Adjudge  them  rough,  uncouth,  or  very  bold, 
I  pray  her  paint  the  heart-strings  that  of  old 
Did  throb,  adjusted  to  the  sweetest  note, 
O'erstrained  by  time,  or  chilled  by  fortune's  vote. 


Maiden,  with  those  lashes  dark, 

'Neath  which  passion's  fire  doth  flood, 

Often,  idly  in  my  bark, 

I  have  glided  through  thy  wood. 


EXETER.  33 

But  no  more  thy  stream  I  know ; 

Squamscot's  bank's  a  memory; 
And  thy  smile  of  long  ago  — 

Will  it  smile  again  on  me? 

And  no  more  thy  woods  I  roam, 
Wrapt  in  nature's  deepest  thought; 

And  no  more  I  see  thy  home 

With  thine  angel  presence  fraught. 

Can  I  say  those  saddest  words? 

Can  I  say,  Adieu,  adieu, 
When  thy  spirit's  presence  girds, 

Lifts  my  hope  again  to  you? 


Long  I've  felt  thy  curfew  bell 
And  thy  funeral  knell 
Work  their  magic  on  my  soul 
By  their  solemn  toll; 


34  EXETER. 

And  thy  happy  wedding  voice 
At  the  bridegroom's  choice, 
And  the  old  year's  heavy  tone 
In  its  dying  groan; 

And  the  New  Year's  merry  ring 
On  the  night  air  fling 
Music  full  of  hope,  and  trust 
In  a  God  who's  just. 

But  to-night  thou'lt  chant  for  me 
Saddest  melody; 
Ring  to  night,  thy  farewell  roll; 
Aged  watchman,  toll. 

The  curfew  slowly  tolls  the  dying  day,1 
All  toil  hath  ceased;   the  latest  twilight  ray 

1  Gray's  line  will  at  once  be  seen  in  this.  Coins  with  the  stamp  of 
rulers  and  kings  on  them  live  when  history  is  no  more.  A  thought  that 
has  Gray's  stamp  on  it  can  never  be  recast.  It  can  only  be  borrowed. 


EXETER.  35 

Has  fled;   the  lamps  are  out,  the  hearths  are  cold; 
Sweet  slumber  keeps  this  town  in  fastest  hold, 
And  fans  with  downy  wing  the  young  and  old. 
Sleep,  infant,  pillowed  on  thy  mother's  breast; 
Sleep,  youth,  by  parents'  care  endeared,  caressed; 
Sleep,  maid,  with  angel's  beauty  in  thy  face; 
Sleep,  bride,  with  hope  that  does  thy  beauty  grace ; 
Sleep,  mother,  troubled  for  a  wayward  son; 
Sleep,  father,  ere  thy  daily  toil's  begun ; 
Sleep,  silvered  age,  thy  race  will  soon  be  run. 
The  poor  forget  their  toil  in  slumber's  hour, 
Nor  know  they  now  the  woes  of  mammon's  power. 
It  gives  us  strength,  it  lights  again  the  eye, 
Divides  the  past,  —  worn-out,  and  sped  for  aye, — 
And  wakes  the  morrow,  bright  with  new-born  hope ; 
It  gives  us  strength  to-day,  that  we  may  cope 
With  life's  reality;   in  visions  sweet, 
It  gilds  the  morrow;   it  is  our  retreat 
From  care  and  woe ;    by  dream's  prophetic  eye 
We  catch  sweet  glimpses  of  futurity; 


36  EXETER. 

In  dreams  the  past  oft  sweetest  re-appears, 
And,  time  forgot,  we're  young  in  silvered  years. 

Tis  night,  and  quiet  holds  this  ancient  town : 

The  fading  twilight's  fled;    and  night,  with  gown 

Of  darksome  hue,  enshrouds  each  living  thing. 

'Tis  night,  and  stillness  rests  on  eagle  wing 

Above  all  things;   the  azure  vault  with  stars 

Is  set;    the  Milky  Way  expands  its  bars, 

With  mystic  beauty  spread;    the  winds  are    hushed; 

The  bay,  late  dimpling  'neath  the  sun's  full-flushed 

And  molten  disk,  with  shining  gems  is  set; 

The  mist  that  soars  above  the  falls  doth  fret 

All  mortal  skill  to  paint,  like  incense  sweet 

It  rises  to  the  sky  on  downy  feet; 

The  rippling  waves  are  pillowed  in  sweet  rest. 

'Tis  done ;   and  o'er  this  scene  I  love  to  dwell : 
These  memories  dear  no  tongue  nor  pen  can  tell ; 
Deep  in  the  heart's  recess  they  nestle  close, 
And  nought  but  time  their  sweetness  may  disclose. 


EXETER.  37 

These  scenes,  endeared  on  Memory's  sacred  shrine ; 
These    years  —  how    fleeting,    yet    how'  long  —  that 

twine 

Their  mystic  tendrils  in  the  schoolboy's  heart,  — 
Alas  !   are  sped :    from  classic  scenes  I  part. 
All,  all,  is  o'er;    and  ere  the  chord  has  broke, 
That  fondly,  dearly,  binds  me  to  this  scene, 
A  lingering  farewell  of  this  view  serene 
I  take  :    soon  manhood's  cares  will  intervene. 

Adieu,  ye  elms  that  wave  on  high  ! 

Adieu,  ye  shaded  walks  below ! 
Adieu,  thou  stream  that  flows  close  by ! 

Adieu,  old  town,  before  I  go  ! 

Adieu,  ye  neighboring  hills  around ! 

Adieu,  ye  woods  of  sombre  hue  ! 
Adieu,  the  ocean's  moaning  sound  ! 

Ye  vales  that  charm  the  eye,  adieu  ! 


SCHOOLDAYS. 


Cur  apricum 

Oderit  campum,  paticns  pulveris  atque  solis  ? 
Cur  timet  flaitum  Tiberim  tangere  ?     Cur  olivunt 
Sanguine  viperino 

Cautius  -vitat,  neque  jam  livida  gestat  armis 
Brachia,  scepe  disco, 
Scepe  trans  finem  jaculo  nobilis  expedite  ? 

HORACE. 

Say,  Father  Thames,  for  thou  hast  seen 

Full  many  a  sprightly  race, 

Disporting  on  tJiy  margcnt  green, 

The  paths  of  pleasure  trace, 

Who  foremost  now  delight  to  cleave 

With  pliant  arm  thy  glassy  wave  ? 

The  captive  linnet  which  inthrall? 

What  idle  progeny  succeed 

To  chase  the  rolling  circle's  speed, 

Or  urge  the  Jlying  ball? 

GRAY. 


GORHAM    HALL    AND    ABBOT    HALL. 
Phillips  Exeter  Academy. 

Long  may  old  Time  look  kindly  on  these  halls!'1'1      (page  73.) 


SCHOOLDAYS. 

O  LOW  tolls  the  bell  within  yon  classic  spire ; 

The  boys  are  tripping  o'er,  in  neat  attire, 
The  green  in  front,  the  place  for  tennis  strife. 
This  quaint  old  town  awakes  with  youth's  new  life ; 
And  fevered,  stirring  scenes  disturb  her  sleep. 
But  who  can  paint  in  colors  true,  nor  weep, 
Who    knows    the    pangs   that   rend   the   schoolboy's 

soul? 

What  seas  of  memory  o'er  his  mind  doth  roll ! 
What  scenes  of  childhood's  hour  for  aye  are  flown  ! 
What  bitter  tears  are  his  to  share  alone  ! 
What    thoughts   of  home,    sweet   home,   he   has   no 

more  ! 

What  sister  knows,  except  on  dreamland's  shore  ! 

43 


44  SC HO  OLD  A  YS. 

What  mother  smiles  upon  his  daily  woes  !  — 
This  youthful  exile,  torn  by  many  throes. 


Give  o'er,  the  troubled  scenes  of  life  awake ; 
A  thousand  burying  troubles  on  him  break; 
Yet  darker  seems  the  youthful  sea  of  life, 
Yet  darker  still  the  uncertain  scene  of  strife. 
But  ah  !   the  dawn  of  waking  thought  is  born, 
The  world  is  new  beneath  its  radiant  morn; 
His  gladsome  soul  leaps  forth  to  new-born  day, 
And  faces  kind  that  greet,  his  fears  allay. 
Ay,  true,  a  world  is  dawning  on  his  mind, — 
A  world  before,  a  home  with  prayers  behind. 
Young  life  beats  high  with  hope  of  future  fame; 
Life's  throbbing  current  in  each  tender  frame 
Is  warm  with  joy,  the  world  in  splendor  dressed. 

The  robust  boy  is  here,  —  warm  heart,  strong  brain ; 
His  mind  he  speaks,  and  hardly  wears  the  chain; 


SCHOOLDA  YS.  45 

Youth's  ruddy  wave  is  dashing  high  along 

His    veins,  —  clear    eye,    with    feelings     deep     and 

strong. 

Robust  schoolboy,  my  heart  most  leans  to  thee  : 
Thy  ways  most  touch  its  chords  of  sympathy. 
And  see  the  spare,  pale  youth,  whom  Nature  gave 
With  grudging  hand:    he's  timid,  shy,  and  grave; 
His  mind,  of  plastic  mould,  is  easy  wrought 
Beneath  the  master's  shaping  hand  of  thought. 
To  guide  the  gently  flowing  stream,  man's  art 
Sufficient  is;   but  mountain  torrents  start 
His  utmost  skill  to  check,  control,  or  guide; 
And  dash  they  madly  on  unto  the  tide. 
'Tis  so  in  school:    the  gently  flowing  thought 
Is  led,  in  fashion's  mould  is  easy  wrought. 
But  wonder  not,  if  Nature's  thought  rejects 
Conventional  rules,  from  beaten  roads  deflects. 
The  bright,  unclouded  mind  of  heavenly  birth, 
That    seems    not    formed    to    dwell,    but   flee    this 
earth ; 


46  SCHOOLDA  YS. 

The  dull,  unlighted  mind;   the  fiery  thought, — 
All  kinds  and  grades  are  here  together  brought: 
In  one  scholastic  course  their  race  is  run, 
And  in  the  lowest  class  their  trials  begun. 

In  looking  down  the  scene  of  garnered  time 
That  makes  the  schoolboy's  life,  if  short,  sublime 
With  thought  and  deed,  what  rivers  of  memory 
Flow  in,  and  whelm  the  soul,  and  damp  the  eye  ! 
What  triumphs,  and  defeated,  airy  schemes  ! 
What  floods  of  light  upon  the  soul  now  streams  ! 
What  chilling  shadows  dark  now  hide  these  gleams  ! 
What  bright  careers  cut  short,  what  severed  ties, 
What  faces  lost  for  aye  to  weeping  eyes  ! 
And  here  one  face  in  grief  I  call  to  mind. 
Dear  Marcus,  if  thy  shade  is  on  the  wind, 
And  if  departed  spirits  hover  o'er 
Fond  scenes  and  friends  of  earth,  who  cannot  more 
Embrace  their  fleshy  forms  upon  this  shore, 
Give  kindly  ear  unto  the  winds  that  waft 
This  song  for  tliee,  young  victim  of  Death's  shaft. 


SCHOOLDA  YS.  47 

When  autumn  wore  her  golden  veil, 
When  flowers  had  ceased  to  bloom, 

We  raised  for  thee  funereal  wail, 
And  bore  thee  to  thy  tomb. 

In  youth's  full  flush  and  hope  thou  passed 

From  out  our  longing  sight : 
We  mourned  thee  till  chill  autumn's  blast 

Was  lost  in  winter's  night. 

O  Death  !   how  bitter  is  thy  sting 

In  life's  full  flushing  morn, 
When  youth  soars  high  on  gallant  wing, 

The  child  of  nature  born  ! 

How,  then,  thou  pluck'st  with  ruthless  hand 

The  flower  just  kissing  day, 
And  tak'st  from  youth's  full,  gladsome  band 

Her  brightest,  worthiest  ray. 


48  SC HO  OLD  A  YS. 

Fit  scenes,  in  sooth,  are  these,  for  genius'  birth, — 
Fit  scenes,  if  ever  such  there  be  on  earth, 
To  fashion  forth  the  senatorial  course; 
These  lifelike  forms  of  those  who've  run  the  course, 
Who've  battled  in  our  Congress'  stately  walls, 
Or  labored  long  in  education's  halls, — 
Great  Webster  on  my  left,  and  Everett,  Cass, 
And  Abbot  on  the  right;    nor  lightly  pass 
The  last  revered  and  honored  form,  who  here, 
Prometheus-like,  brought  down,  to  bless  and  cheer, 
The  heavenly  fire,  and  fashion  genius'  mould, 
From  the  rude  elements  bring  forth  the  gold. 
Methinks  this  breathing  group  within  each  frame 
Sweet  converse  hold;    on  him  reflect  the  flame 
Of  living,  truthful  light  their  names  inspire ; 
Revere  that  sacred  form,  their  common  sire. 


Ay,  ours  is  Freedom's  cherished,  sacred  land: 
No  fettering  shackles,  clinched  by  kingly  hand, 


SCHOOLDA  YS.  49 

Here  bind  the  mind's  free  scope,  nor  steal  her  wreath ; 
No  James  to  dictate  to  our  schools,  or  sheathe 
Oppression's  sword  in  creed's  usurping  sheath. 
Yes,  Athens,  thy  thought  wast   free;   the   world   for 

aye 

Will  own  thee  learning's  king :    the  immortal  ray 
That  fires  the  mind  must  all  be  free,  or  wane. 
Bear  witness,  Russia,  Prussia,  England,  Spain, 
Where  learning's  fed  and  nourished,  granted  all; 
But  let  her  strike  at  power,  how  quick  her  fall ! 

The  boys  are  out,  their  recitations  o'er. 
No  longer  studious  minds  collect  the  lore 
From  many  an  ancient  page,  nor  puzzle  o'er 
Deep  mathematics'  laws;   wise  history's  page, 
With  all  its  golden  lore  for  age  on  age, 
Is  thrown  aside,  and  physics'  material  laws, 
Caesar  and  Tully,  Xenophon,  rhetoric's  saws, 
And  Virgil's  softly  moving  strain,  the  power 
Sublime  to  paint  man,  nature,  beast,  or  flower, 


5O  SCHOOLDA  YS. 

And  Homer's  godlike  song,  —  all,  all,  forgot; 

Along  the  green  in  many  a  clustering  knot 

The  schoolboys  speed:    these  seek  the  river's  side. 

Their  shells  are  out,  they  rest  upon  the  tide. 

The  bay  with  dimpling  cheek  now  seems  to  woo 

Them  to  its  glad  embrace.     Huzza  !   the  blue 

Waves'  crest  is  glad,  with  many  a  white  sail  set, 

And  eager  crowds  along  the  banks  are  met. 

The  swelling  tide  gives  back  in  purple  set 

Each  form  along  its  shore,  the  wind  is  low; 

Fond  hearts  are  beating  high.     The  boats  below, — 

They  man  the  oars,  now  poised  upon  the  tide 

They  rest,  the  signal-shot  they  eager  bide. 

Tis  off!   they  move,  they  fly  along  the  waves'  blue 

crest : — 

Each  crew,  in  turn,  by  lovers  fond's  caressed  : 
Now  this,  now  that,  by  skilful  toil  prevails. 
How  bend  they  to  their  oars  !   nor  one  who  quails 
Beneath  the  sturdy  strokes;   how  waters  part 
Before  the  boats'  sharp  bows  !  high  beats  each  heart. 


GIDEON     L.   SOULE. 
Instructor  for  fifty  years  at  Phillips  Exeter  Academy. 

"  And  here  was  borne  the  honored  teacher,  slow 
And  sadly,  to  his  aged  tomb.'1''     (page  22.) 


OF  THB 

•UNIVERSITY 


SCHOOLDAYS.  53 

And  now  the  foremost  flies  beyond  the  goal, 
The  flag-boat's  bow  is  passed,  and  honor's  role 
Is  proudly  won.     The  air  is  rent  with  cheers. 

Some  swing  in  graceful  curves  upon  the  green 

The  racket;   gently  soars  the  bail  between 

The  facing  courts,  and  o'er  the  netting's  guard. 

Some  play  at  quoits ;    croquet  now  some  regard. 

But  pass  we  to  the  Campus,  ever  dear 

With  schoolboy  memories  thick  clustered  here. 

A  varied  scene  here  greets  the  feasting  eye, — 

A  gently  sloping  field  whereon  doth  vie 

In  healthful  sport  full  many  a  happy  youth, 

Surrounded  half  by  woods  of  closest  growth, 

That  renders  back  in  echoes  long  and  loud 

The  pealing  shouts  that  leave  the  assembled  crowd ; 

And  half  by  gardens  and  the  farmers'  road. 

On  holidays,  when  freed  from  labor's  goad, 

Full  oft  we've  swept  in  counter-charge  this  plain ; 

Full  oft  impelled  with  sturdy  foot  amain 


54  SCHOOLDAYS. 

The  hogshide  ball  to  either  homeward  goal; 
Full  oft  in  fleetest  course  have  gained  the  pole, 
And  heard  with  pride  our  schoolmates'  ready  cheer. 
Ah  "  Bravo  ! "  from  a  classmate's  lips,  how  dear  ! 
Tis  won  in  equal  strife  :    swift  time  will  fade 
The  teacher's  praise;    but  this  with  gold's  inlaid, 
And  silvered  age  will  fondly  dote  on  praise 
Bestowed  for  feats  at  play,  when  tutors'  bays 
Are  faded  in  the  past.     These  charge  to  reach 
Their  goal,  and  drive  the  ball  in  every  breach 
That  opes  throughout  the  opposing,  struggling  lines, 
While  those  repel  the  charge  by  shrewd  designs. 
The  ball  is  caught,  and  skilful  feet  impel 
It  through  the  air,  and  victory's  hopes  dispel. 


Full  oft  I've  been  a  truant,  fled  these  walls 
To  keep  communion  with  my  soul's  own  eye, 
To  drink  from  Mother  Nature's  fount,  to  try 
The  steeps  of  history's  lore,  to  peer  far  o'er 


SCHOOLDA  YS.  5  5 

The  desert  of  man's  deeds,  since  Time  her  flight 

Began,  —  a  mighty  waste,  a  mournful  sight. 

But  hark  !  loud  peals  the  bell  from  learning's  dome, 

And  Science  calls  her  youths  within  her  home  : 

From  Maine  to  Texas,  o'er  this  mighty  land, 

From  Minnesota  in  the  shivering  north, 

To  blooming  Florida,  her  sons  come  forth; 

Yea,  e'en  the  golden  Orient  doth  demand 

Admittance  to  her  sacred,  holy  walls ; 

The  Western  Indias  too,  within  these  halls 

Have  sought  and  found  for  thirsting  lips  the  fount. 

Glad  welcome  give  for  aye  these  youths,  to  mount 

From  out  the  bales  of  ignorance ;   ye  walls, 

Throw  wide  thy  portals,  freedom  in  thy  halls, 

And  let  the  setting  sun  sweet  tidings  bear 

To  their  own  land,  so  dead,  yet  death  so  fair; 

The  new  in  life  extend,  to  greet,  thy  hand, 

The  old  in  death  beyond  Pacific's  strand. 

Ye  youths,  go  back,  and  in  your  Eastern  clime 

Rear  high  the  templed  halls  of  truth,  that  time 


- 

OF    T 

•UNIVERSITY 


OF    THE 


56  SCHOOLDAYS. 

Shall  kindly  smile  upon;    drive  back  the  cloud 
Of  ignorance  that  doth  your  land  enshroud : 
So  shall  unnumbered  ages  yet  to  be, 
So  shall  unnumbered  peoples  you  shall  free 
From  brooding  darkness'  curse,  thy  names  revere. 

Here  some  haste  to  the  green  declining  bank, 
And  flee  their  studious  toil :   they  leave  the  plank, 
And  headlong  plunge  beneath  the  purple  wave; 
The  schoolroom,  teacher,  Latin,  Greek,  all  save 
The  watery  sport,  alike  in  each's  forgot, 
And  healthful  pastimes  are  their  happy  lot. 
The  dimpling  current  wooes  them  to  its  breast, 
And  here  from  tasking  toil  they  seek  their  rest. 
The  watery  element  invites  them  now, 
And  buoyant  limbs  the  billows  lightly  plough; 
The    waters    lave    their  limbs;    these    nymphs    the 

deep 

Doth  gladly  own,  doth  fondly  hold  in  keep, — 
Now  gently  lulls  them  as  inviting  sleep, 


SCHOOLDAYS.  57 

Now  rocks  them  on  her  azure,  heaving  breast, 
Again  she  calms  them  into  sweetest  rest. 
Oft  we  have  cleft  with  buoyant  limbs  thy  iorm, 
Old  oak;    with  heart  full  beating  high  and  warm 
We've  cut  with  pliant  limb  thy  foliage  green, 
That  mirrored  lies  the  wave  and  heavens  between. 


Tis  winter's  night,  and  on  the  casement  falls 
The  fleecy  snow,  and  nought  there  is  that  calls 
The  studious,  patient  youth  from  learning's  toils. 
His  page  is  set,  his  fireplace  trimmed,  his  oil  — 
The  midnight  star  that  lights  his  weary  way  — 
Now  glimmers  through  the  curtained  close  of  day. 
The  schoolboy's  care  is  o'er  his  labored  page 
Of  classic  lore  and  history,  —  the  stage 
Whereon  all  actors,  since  remotest  time 
Began,  before  us  pass  in  view  sublime. 
The  tower-clocks,  with  muffled,  heavy  toll, 
Strike  out  the  passing  hour ;    the  distant  roll 


58  SCHOOLDAYS. 

Of  Ocean  breaking  on  his  wintry  shore 

Now  wanes,  now  swells,  to  one  low,  rumbling  roar. 

The  street-lights  glimmer  through  the  falling  snow, 

And  as  the  night  wears  on  they  shorter  grow. 

Tis  night;    and  all  is  o'er.     In  visions  blessed, 

The  schoolboy's  mind  on  fleetest  wing  again 

Doth  speed  its  homeward  way,  nor  knows  the  pain, 

The  pang,  that  separation  soon  must  bring. 

His  midnight  lamp  is  out ;    and  anger's  sting, 

Sarcasm's  venomed  tooth,  what  are  they  now? 

If  late  he  felt,  sweet  sleep  doth  calm  his  brow. 

Tis    winter's   night;    but    youth's    young    blood    is 

warm, 

And  skilful  feet  in  mazy  toil  the  charm 
Of  ice-king  try.     With  lightning  speed  they  skim 
The  frozen  wave  in  movements  neat  and  trim. 
With   skates   and    crook    in    hand,   these    seek    the 

"Cove," 
And  healthful  sport  enjoy  beneath  the  grove. 


SCHOOLDA  YS.  59 

Some   wend    their  way   through   woods    of    deepest 

pine, 

And  thread  for  miles  the  stream,  nor  aught   repine; 
Some  sweep  in  mazy  whirl  broad  Squamscot's    face, 
And  gather  here  a  fund  of  health  and  grace ; 
The  neighboring  hills  are  climbed  with  sled  in  hand, 
And  all   jump  on,  —  a  merry,  reckless  band; 
And  these,  by  master's  rare  indulging  grace, 
Seek    out    (their    joy)     some    neighboring    country- 
place,  — 

Amesbury  town,  New  England's  poet's  home ; 
Perchance  to  distant  Haverhill  they  roam ; 
Old  Kingston's  plain  they  hie  them  quickly  through, 
And  lofty  Kensington  repass  anew ; 
While  those  to  Boar's  Head  urge  their  steeds  apace, 
And  gaze  upon  old  Ocean's  wintry  face, 
Or  speed  away  to  ancient  Portsmouth  town. 

Tis  early  autumn  time  :    the  winds  sigh  low 
And  sweet  to  woo  the  pensive  thought;   below, 


60  SCIIOOLDA  YS. 

The  farms  outspread  in  panoramic  view, — 
Here  golden  with  the  ripening  ear,  there  blue 
With  winding,  spreading  stream  :   here  deepest  green 
With  second  growth,  a  contrast  to  the  scene; 
There  orchards  bending  with  their  ripening  fruit, 
That  soon  will  feed  the  hungry  cider-mill's  shute  : 
Here  neighboring  pine-clad  hills  of  sombre  hue, 
Or  gorgeous,  variegated  woods,  the  view 
Make  up;    there,  'mid  the  haze  and  halo,  stand 
Along  the  dreamy  horizon  the  grand 
Old  northern  hills  I  oft  have  trod  upon. 
This  is  the  view  outspread  from  Kensington; 
But,  Frank,  in  vain  I  try  this  scene  to  paint, 
Where    we   how    oft    have    stood,    and    heard    the 

plaint 

Of  distant  Ocean  beating  on  his  shore. 
Ah  !   will  we  hear  again  his  rumbling  roar? 
This   joy  we  ne'er  may  have,  ah,  nevermore  ! 
And  like  a  girl  I've  loved  thee,  Frank :    those  lips 
With  boyish  curl,  where  gentle  frolic  skips; 


SCHOOLDAYS.  6 1 

Those  deep  brown  eyes  —  but  who  with  pen  or  brush 

Can  paint  the  laugh,  the  tear,  the  passions'  rush, 

The  deep  and  speechless  gaze  of  fervent  love 

That  burns  in  mortal  caskets  here  —  above 

Doth  tell  a  tale,  unthread  a  puzzling  maze, 

Apply  a  balm  to  hearts  that  here,  in  days 

Of  flesh  and  blind  mortality,  did  bleed? 

The  jealous,  sidelong  glance,  the  lustful  deed 

That  spoke  in  leer,  and  love's  sweet,  stolen  glance. 

Forgive  this  rush  of  fancy's  wild  expanse. 

Thy  locks  of  waving  auburn  o'er  a  brow 

Of  girl-like  beauty  —  still  I  see  thee  now 

In  pensive  habit  watching  stately  ships 

That  eastward  glide  along;  —  methinks  those  lips 

With  time  may  wear  a  sadder,  graver  mould. 

Forbid  !   but  may  their  gentle  sadness'  fold, 

Be  ever  as  it  was  in  days  now  o'er, 

When  you  and  I  did  delve  the  classic  lore  ! 

You  rapid  progress  made,  and  eager  wrought, 

And  fed  a  clear-toned  brain  all  formed  for  thought. 


62  SCHOOLDA  VS. 

First  trying,  vying,  in  the  schoolboy  race, 

Each  daily  task  was  met  within  the  trace; 

But  soon  arose  a  longing  vague  and  still 

And  deep,  impatience  at  the  ripest  skill, 

A  wish  to  trample  forms  beneath  my  feet; 

Yet  ever  quick  the  welcome  page  to  greet, 

And  walk  with  Nature  and  with  Nature's  man, 

And  converse  keep,  —  attempt  to  con  her  plan. 

Twas  this  I  own,  —  your  constant,  clear- brained  toil 

Robbed  me,  and  gave  to  you  scholastic  spoil. 

With  early  autumn  leaves  I  twine  thy  brow, 

A  pallid,  golden  wreath  I  bring;    for  thou 

Art  pensive  Autumn's  thoughtful,  beauteous  child ; 

And  like  her  gently  sighing  winds,  that  mild, 

Sweet  symphony  around  us  nightly  keep, 

Is  thy  sweet  spirit,  tender,  sad,  and  deep. 


Some  test  enduring  strength  and  fleetest  speed; 
They  fly  along  the  course  like  swiftest  steed ; 


SC HO  OLD  A  YS.  63 

They  test  their  skill  and  speed  in  hurdle-race; 

They  try  united  skill  in  three-legged  pace ; 

They  hurl  with  skilful  arm  far  o'er  the  green 

The  ball;    the  tug  of  war  each  class  between 

Is  fought;   the  mighty  hammer  those  now  throw, 

And  these  in  skilful  walk  now  by  us  go; 

The  boat  crews  train  the  coming  race  to  meet; 

The  boys  now  hie  them  by  on  nimble  feet; 

These  run  on  tiptoes  light,  with  easy  grace, 

And  those  in  walk  go  on  a  longer  space. 

Some  test  enduring  strength  and  swiftest  feet 

At    "  hare-and-hounds."      They   leave    the    winding 

street, 

And  speed  them  to  the  wood's  secretest  glen 
Through    devious   winding   ways.      The    hares,    who 

ken 

Each  wily  trick,  swift  lead  the  hounds ;   they  seek 
The  wooded  dell,  the  marsh,  now  leap  a  creek, 
Now  climb  the  rocky  bluff;    along  the  hill 
They  fly;    make  many  a  feint  with  cunning  skill, 


64  SCHOOLDA  YS. 

Nor  leave  the  paper  "  scent "  where  dullest  eye 
May  seek.     Quick  sight  they  ask,  and  feet  that  fly 
Along  the  turf;  enduring  limb  and  wind, 
And  hearty  boyhood's  cheer :    'tis  these  that  send 
The  hares  o'er  many  a  puzzling  zigzag  mile, 
Like  swallows'  swiftest  flight,  o'er  wall  and  stile. 
They  honor  swift  pursuit,  and  mighty  dread 
The  peering  eye,  the  fleetest  foot,  or  head 
That  sounds  their  wiles,  and  sights  them  from  the  hill 
And  then  with  bugle  cheer  heads  off  until 
They  near  the  hares.     Alas  !   full  oft  I've  led 
The  nimble  feet  along  yon  hills,  and  sped 
Away  to  Newmarket  town;   full  oft  the  wood 
We've  coursed  in  gallant,  buoyant  hardihood ; 
Full  oft  has  thrilled,  the  rocky  hills  among, 
Our  merry  cheer  from  schoolboy's  jolly  tongue ; 
Full  oft,  with  merry  song  and  shout,  that  town 
Has  echoed  loud  to  embryos  of  the  gown. 
O  Time  !   give  back  to  me  one  little  hour 
Such  as  we've  passed  therein ;   suspend  thy  power 


JOHN    PHILLIPS. 
The  founder  of  Phillips  Exeter  Academy. 

And  Phillips'  halls  I  know  no  more.'1'1     ( page  go.) 


OF  TUB 

UNIVERSITY 


SC  HO  OLD  A  KS".  6? 

O'er  waning  youth.     Oh,  grant  me  but  this  boon  ! 
I  weep.     Youth's  fleeting  wing  hath  flown  too  soon. 
The  healthful  bands  that  yearly  sought  that  town 
Are  scattered  far  and  wide.     Some  wear  the  gown ; 
And  some  try  Fortune's  varying,  fickle  wheel; 
Some  tread  Pacific's  strand,  there  try  their  weal; 
Old  Europe's  clime  a  few  have  sought ;   and  one 
Dear  boy,  my  friend,  my  heart,  in  grief  or  fun, 
My  other  half1  —  with  you  I've  loved  to  be, 
And  cleave  the  azure  billows  bold  and  free. 
With  you  I've  breasted  many  a  nightly  tide ; 
Together  we  have  sought  the  ocean's  side; 
Together  roamed  the  wood,  the  tiresome  book 
Forsook,  and  sought  some  grove,  some  quiet  nook. 


1  "Ah,  te  mese  si  partem  animse  rapit 
Maturior  vis." 


HORACE 


'And  the  last,  my  other  heart, 
And  almost  my  half  self." 

TENNYSON  :   Princess. 


68  SCHOOLDA  YS. 

And  dost  thou  say,  my  love,  that  soon  thou'lt  be 

One  of  our  band,  and  not  a  memory? 

Since  last  we  met,  thy  spirit,  like  a  strain 

Of  dying  music,  lingers  round,  though  main, 

And  different  climes,  divide.     Thy  lot  hast  been 

To  stand  where  many  oiden  heroes,  men 

Translated  to  the  sphere  of  gods  in  death, 

Have  stood,  to  scent  the  orange-blossom's  breath, 

A  Marathon  to  view,  Thermopylae 

To  muse  upon,  Parnassus'  mount  to  see, 

And  tread  the  land,  and  breathe  the  air,  the  gods 

Did  love  —  alas,  where  now  the  bondsman  plods  ! 

To  look  on  Troy,  the  Hellespont  to  view, 

Walk  classic  ground,  con  Homer's  page  anew, 

And  sail  upon  ^Egean's  deepest  blue. 

Ah  God  !     Does  freedom's  light  burn  brightly  forth 
Save  once  two  thousand  years?    And  is  the  north 
The  only  clime  where  flames  the  sacred  torch? 
And  doth  it  blaze  within  itself  to  scorch 


SCHOOLDA  VS.  69 

Existent  life  in  southern  tropic  climes? 
Is  it  a  tree  that  only  fruits  at  times, 
Then  dies,  or  falls  beneath  the  traitor's  hand 
That  plucked  and  ate,  then  held  the  firing  brand? 
And  who  will  answer?     Rome  gave  forth  her  all 
Whilst  thriving  on  its  fruit,  nor  dreamt  of  fall, 
Till  civil  strife  laid  low  the  sacred  tree. 
And  Athens'  tale  is  but  the  same.     The  free, 
The  free!  —  "eternal  vigilance  is  thy  price." 
Columbia's  sons,  to  keep  this  boon,  now  twice 
Have  fought.     And  may  this  arm  be  nerved  anew, 
In  youth  or  age,  to  serve  our  banner  true, 
Or  fall  beneath  the  red,  the  white,  and  blue  ! 

I  own  no  dinner  poet's  flattering  muse; 
But  who,  from  candor's  heart,  can  e'er  refuse 
To  sing,  e'en  though  it  be  a  lowly  strain 
Of  memories  we  ne'er  may  know  again?  — 
Of  friendship's  ties  too  young  to  know  deceit, 
Of  hallowed  science  in  her  green  retreat, 


7O  SCHOOLDA  YS. 

Of  mentor's  sage  instruction,  father's  care, 
Who  felt  that  boyhood's  lot  was  once  his  share, 
Forgave  the  wayward,  knew  that  all  may  sin, 
The  truant  taught  where  to  again  begin, 
And  with  those  deep-souled  noble  eyes  did  beam 
Fit  approbation  on  the  dawning  gleam 
Of  talent,  but  with  terror  awed  the  wag. 
For  thee  sincere  my  love,  though  like  a  drag 
Thy  mathematic  rules;   thy  clear-brained  thought, 
Howe'er  I  toiled,  a  maze  it  only  brought. 


And  honest  Cato,  now  my  mind  to  thee 
Instinctive  turns,  when  memory  like  a  sea 
Doth  roll  its  mighty  waves  upon  the  past; 
And  nought  there  seems,  alas  !   to  fade  so  fast 
As  those  sweet  joys  we  once  could  call  our  own,  — 
Those  joys  that  each  have  had,  how  quickly  flown  J 
Amid  the  storm  my  mind  doth  turn  to  yours 
For  sympathy  and  cheer:    my  heart  assures 


SCHOOLDAYS.  Jl 

My  wayward  mind  'twill  find  a  listening  ear 
In  thy  great  soul  that  knows  a  feeling  tear. 
Thou  ruledst  with  lenity  our  boisterous  throng, 
And  graved  thy  love,  nor  ever  did  a  wrong 
Upon  full  many  a  young  and  tender  heart. 

When  odorous  spring  breathes  fresh  from  sunny  vales, 
When  blooming  flowers  the  beauteous  scene  regales, 
When  the  lilac  and  the  rose  are  sweetest  to  view, 
Their  perfumes  are  elysian,  and  the  blue 
Above  doth  wear  its  deepest,  richest  hue, 
We  plant  the  spreading  elm  upon  this  green. 
Thou  whispering  elm,  we  leave  thee  and  this  scene. 
'Twere  vain ;    but  yet  in  schoolboy  pride  we  name 
Thee  Onward,  chant  in  christening  hymns  thy  fame, 
And  as  thy  leaves  shall  scatter  in  the  blast 
Each  pensive  autumn  brings,  so  we  at  last 
Must  quit  these  scenes,  be  borne  on  fortune's  gale, 
How  far  apart !     Each  class  that  leaves  this  band, 
Like  billows  fast  succeeding  on  the  strand, 


72  SC HO  OLD  A  YS, 

Doth  chant  its  funeral  dirge,  its  last  sad  lay, 
And  quickly  passes  from  our  sight  away. 
Thou  whispering  elm,  endeared  to  us  alone, 
Dodona's  leafy  shrine,  in  mystic  tone 
Communion  sweet  with  gods  and  men  did  keep; 
And  canst  thou,  when  the  summer  breezes  sweep 
Thy  limbs,  like  harpstrings  struck  by  fingers  soft, 
In  ancient,  mystic  ways  waft  tidings  oft? 
When  autumn's  anthem,  pensive,  low,  and  sweet, 
Doth  kiss  thy  waving  form,  then  canst  thou  greet 
Some  wayworn  wanderer  of  our  scattered  throng 
With  tidings  low  and  sweet,  with  pensive  song? 
And  when  thou'rt  grown  to  be  a  mighty  tree, 
And  chant  the  oriole  sweet  lullaby, 
And  softly  rock  him  in  his  hanging  nest, 
When  thou  art  in  thy  rising  vigor  blest, 
Then  wilt  thou  know  the  tottering  limbs,  perchance, 
That  falter  to  thy  shade,  as  'twere  in  trance, 
To  see  thee  grown  so  high,  then  wilt  thou  know 
The  silvered  heads,  the  boys  of  years  ago? 


SCHOOLDA  VS.  73 

As  two  fond  lovers  on  a  foreign  shore 
Await  in  sorrow's  throes,  and  both  implore 
That  tireless  Time  may  hold  his  flight,  nor  grant 
The  hour  when  he  must  rend  the  bonds,  implant 
In  love's  sweet  soil  a  thorn  it  ne'er  hast  known,— 
Await  in  grief  the  hour,  their  joys  all  flown, 
When  he,  alas  !   must  cross  the  stormy  main, 
And  she,  in  accents  wild,  or  speechless  pain, 
Implores  him  not  to  go,  and  rend  for  aye 
His  cherished  form,  and  make  of  love's  bright  day 
Chill  sorrow's  night:    so  we  by  destiny 
Are  hurried  on.     Our  hearts  in  buoyancy 
Would  gladly  linger  on  this  sweetest  scene, 
Nor  tempt  the  billowy  sea  of  time  unseen. 


Long  ma'y  ye  stand,  ye  noble,  beauteous  walls  ! 
Long  may  old  Time  look  kindly  on  these  halls  ! 
Long  may  the  rising  sun  thy  gilded  spire 
Light  up,  and  feel  his  warmest  evening  fire  ! 


74  SCHOOLDA  VS. 

Long  may  the  locust-trees  sweet  fragrance  breathe 
Around  these  quiet  walls,  the  youth  beneath 
Their  shade  disport  upon  this  ancient  green  ! 
Long  may  the  balm-of-gileads  wave  between 
Thy  cloistered,  classic  halls,  and  heaven  on  high  ! 
Long  may  these  wide-spread  elms  thy  beauty  grace, 
And  add  perfection  to  thy  lovely  face  ! 
Long  may  thy  clock  ring  out  the  passing  hour, 
And  tell  the  boys  life's  cares  upon  them  lower; 
That  rosy  youth  will  soon,  too  soon,  be  o'er; 
That  fleeting  time  looks  backward  nevermore  ! 

Ring  wild  and  free,  old  iron  bell; 

Ring  glad  and   joyously ! 
Your  dying  century  ring,  old  bell ; 

Ring,  bell,  ring  glad  and  free  ! 

Ring  o'er  this  classic  scene,  old  bell; 

Ring  glad  and  joyously  ! 
Ring  out,  old  bell,  thy  dying  knell, 

Thy  waning  century ! 


OF  THH 

UNIVERSITY 


SCHOOLDA  YS.  75 

The  swiftly  passing  -  hours  ring,  bell ; 

Ring  glad  and  joyously  ! 
The  youth,  from  clear-toned  lips,  you  tell, 

Be  merry,  happy,  free  ! 

And  on  the  moonlight's  silver  air 

Ring  glad  and  joyously  ! 
And  when  the  rising  stars  are  fair, 

Ring,  bell,  ring  bold  and  free  ! 

And  to  the  spangled  wintry  sky 

Ring  glad  and  joyously  ! 
And  to  thy  gentle  stream  near  by 

Ring  out  thy  minstrelsy  ! 

Ring  wild  and  free,  old  iron  bell; 

Ring  glad  and  joyously  ! 
Your  dying  century  ring,  old  bell: 

Ring,  bell,  ring  glad  and  free  ! 


UNIVERSITY 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


A    VISION. 

41 1  would  recall  a  vision  which  I  dreamed, 
Perchance  in  sleep ;    for  in  itself  a  thought, 
A  slumbering  thought,  is  capable  of  years, 
And  curdles  a  long  life  into  one  hour." 

BYRON. 

T   HAD  a  vision.     O'er  me  softly  swept 

The  tide  of  memory ;    and  down  the  vale 
Of  childhood's  years,  before  me  stood  a  boy. 
His  mien  was  grave  beyond  his  early  years ; 
His  locks  of  flowing  light  the  wind  caressed. 
He  stood  beside  a  gently-flowing  stream, 
And  wept ;    his  youthful  heart  was  wrung  with  grief. 
And  in  the  little  vale  coursed  by  that  stream, 
With  groves  of  richest  growth  upon  the  right, 
And  a  long  hill  with  woods  upon  the  left, 

79 


80  A    VISION. 

The  summer  sun  was  sinking  in  the  west. 
Beside  its  molten  orb  a  hamlet  stood, 
And  on  its  spires  he  shed  his  dying  ray. 
There  stood  a  cottage  in  that  nestled  fold, 
And  on  a  couch  therein  there  lay  a  form 
That  oft  by  night  in  dreams  before  him  stood. 
Her  angel  beauty,  eyes  of  languid  hue, 
Foretold  that  immortality  was  near. 
As  twilight  came  he  stood  with  eyes  upturned 
To  where  the  evening  star  first  twinkling  shone. 
He  knew  not  why,  but  yet  he  gazed  thereon 
Full  long,  then  looked  to  where  the  hamlet  stood, 
And  wept  full  sore.     His  o'erwrought  nature  slept. 

Now,  while  he  slept,  her  spirit  angels  bore 
On  pinions  soft  unto  that  silver  star. 


My  vision  changed.     I  saw  the  people  throng 
With  slow  and  reverent  tread  the  village  church. 


A    VISION.  8 1 

The  old  and  young,  the  high  and  low,  were  there; 
And  in  that  throng  there  stood  the  boy  alone. 
Amid  a  sorrowing  people,  sore  he  wept. 
His  heart  was  full,  that  it  did  nearly  break. 
The  sorrowing  people  bore  her  to  the  grave  : 
But  he  went  not;   he  homeward  turned  his  way 
In  silent,  heavy  sadness,  void  of  thought, 
That  baffles  sympathy  and  sweet  repose. 


Now,  time  sped  on :    the  lilies  sprung  above 
Her  grave,  and  immortality's  emblem  grew 
Above  her  lowly  sleep. 

The  vision  changed. 

Twas  sabbath  eve.     There  stood  beside  that  grave 
A  tall  and  comely  youth  in  pensive  mood; 
And  in  the  holy  stillness  of  that  scene 
He  fain  would  kneel,  and  ask  a  benison 
Upon  that  cherished  dust.     A  flower  from 
That  grave  he  bore,  and  locked  it  in  his  heart. 


82  A    VISION. 

The  vision  changed.     Upon  the  stormy  wave 
Of  human  life  I  saw  a  youthful  form; 
And  with  that  storm  he  battled  brave  and  long, 
And  distant,  homeless  climes  he  travelled  o'er, 
And  learning's  golden  lore  he  eager  sought. 


My  vision  changed.     With  pale  and  haggard  look, 

From  toil  and  sorrow,  midnight's  sapping  page, 

I  saw  him  homeward  turn  his  saddened  way; 

And  none  did  greet  him  at  his  former  home, 

And  none  did  know  him  at  the  hamlet's  inn. 

He  turned  him  to  the  little  burial-place. 

'Twas  winter:    yet  that  emblem  flower  throve, 

Of  immortality;    and  he  did  pluck 

A  leaf,  and  place  it  in  his  bosom's  fold, 

And  there,  reflecting  on  the  war  of  life 

That  he  had  fruitless  waged,  he  bitter  wept. 

Yet,  from  the  hallowed  spell  the  grave  doth  bring, 

Sweet  consolation  o'er  him  spread  her  wings ; 


A    VISION.  83 

And  he  did  leave  that  little  burial-place 

In  sweeter,  holier  mood  than  he  had  felt 

Since  years,  long  years,  had  sped  their  course  away. 

NOTE.  —  The  reader  will  at  once  see  that  the  versification 
of  this  poem  is  similar  to  that  of  Byron's  entitled  "  The 
Dream."  Though  clad  in  the  garb  of  that  most  beautiful 
poem,  the  subject  is  the  author's. 


UNIVERSITY 


i 


EDITH. 

"  That  thou  hast  been  to  me  all  tenderness, 
And  friend  to  more  than  human  friendship  just." 

CAMPBELL. 

HAD  a  vision  fair.     A  stream  beside 


Of  broad  yet  gentle  flow,  a  youth  and  maid 
Did  stand,  and  pensive  watch  it  onward  glide. 

Upon  its  face  the  dying  sunbeams  played; 
Far  stretching  southward  lay  the  hoary  main, 
Where  waters  everlasting  marked  their  reign. 

They  stood  upon  a  ruined  fortress  old, 

Where  freedom's  fearless  gathered  yoemen  fought 
And  bled  and  died,  —  oh,  nobly  fought !  where  gold, 

And  balked  ambition,  pride,  did  offer  nought 
But  terms  of  craven  death.     His  neighbor's  blood, 
By  Arnold's  hand  here  mingled  with  the  flood. 
84 


EDITH.  85 

Yon  granite  towering  shaft  through  ages  long 
Thy  ignominy,  crime,  base  man,  shall  tell; 

And  Arnold,  traitor's  name,  be  wove  in  song 
As  he  who  willed  our  freedom's  cause  to  sell. 

A  mighty  people  execrate  thy  name, 

And  every  schoolboy  read  thy  road  to  shame. 

The  dead,  their  sons  among,  sleep  peaceful  here. 

The  scene  is  rural  now;   no  gathering  din 
Of  war  is  heard;   there  drops  no  widowed  tear; 

No  father,  brother,  husband,  here  begin 
The  harvest  reaped  by  Death ;   the  grazing  kine 
Roam  o'er  this  scene,  above  its  powder-mine. 

The  early  eve  drew  on ;   the  stars  came  out ; 

The  river's  darkly-heaving  breast  was  set 
With  lambent   jewels  from  on  high ;    without 

The  river's  mouth,  where  stream  and  ocean  met, 
An  hundred  sails  were  riding,  strongly  chained : 
So  calm  the  sea,  not  one  its  cable  strained. 


86  EDITH. 

The  dews  like  richest  incense  filled  the  air; 

The  latest  swallow  twittering  whirled  on  high ; 
Unto  their  folds  the  flocks  did  make  repair; 

The  cottage  smoke  wreathed  upward  to  the  sky; 
The  night-hawk  sang  the  dirge  of  dying  day, 
While  distant  rang  the  sailor's  roundelay. 

And  to  and  fro,  like  Charon's  spirit  bark, 
The  village  shallops  glided  o'er  that  stream; 

And  sloops  with  wizard  sails  adown  the  dark 
And  swollen  tide  did  float;   the  latest  gleam 

Of  day  was  fading  fast;   the  fisher's  eye 

Peered  through  the  dark  his  cottage  to  descry. 

But  hark  !    the  youth,  till  now  so  deaf  to  all 
Save  Edith's  accents  sweet,  doth  catch  a  sound. 

He  lists;   his  neighing  steeds  unto  him  call. 

He  hears  their  hoofs  impatient  paw  the  ground; 

They  fret  to  give  his  carriage  fleetest  wing, 

And  from  their  steel-clad  hoofs  the  gravel  fling. 


EDITH.  S 

She  mutely  lay  within  his  fond  embrace; 

Her  raven  locks  dishevelled  downward  hung. 
O  God  !   if  heavenly  bliss  within  this  space 

To  mortals  given  there  be,  'tis  love  when  young 
It  is  the  new-born  spirit's  waking  love, 
A  lamb  in  meekness ;   innocence,  the  dove. 

O  Edith  !   must  I  leave  this  fondest  scene  ? 

O  God  !    my  brain  doth  reel,  my  heart  is  gone, 
To  think  of  thee,  my  love,  and  memories  green  ! 

O  Edith  !   press  thy  sweetest  lips  upon 
My  fevered  ones ;  again,  and  once  again  ! 
And  must  we  part,  again  to  meet,  ah !   when  ? 


LOVED    ISLE. 

T     OVED  isle  begirt  with  ocean's  foam, 

Adieu  !     I  go  athwart  the  sea  • 
But  long  thy  form,  where'er  I  roam, 
Shall  rest  impressed  on  memory, — 

Thy  rugged  rocks,  thy  moss-hung  trees, 
The  spruce,  the  fir,  the  ash,  that  grow, 

And  break  the  storm,  yet  fan  the  breeze, 
And  clothe  thy  hills  above,  below ;  — 

Where  cranes  and  ravens  nightly  perch, 
And  fleecy  flocks  seek  feed  below, 

Among  thy  rugged,  gnarly  birch, 
Where  sea-gulls  flutter  to  and  fro. 
88 


LOVED   ISLE.  89 

Adieu,  thou  lone  and  rugged  isle, 

A  rugged  people's  seagirt  home; 
Thou  lonely  home,  adieu,  a  while  ! 

Tis  fate  that  bids  me  onward  roam. 


REMEMBRANCE. 

"  Thought  would  destroy  their  paradise. 
No  more  :    where  ignorance  is  bliss, 
'Tis  folly  to  be  wise." 

GRAY. 

A   ND  can  it  be  that  youth  has  flown, 

That  rosy,  fleeting  youth  is  o'er, 
That  manhood  sternly  claims  his  own, 
And  Phillips'  halls  I  know  no  more? 

And  can  it  be  no  more  I  tread 
Again  those  vine-clad,  classic  halls; 

That  boyhood's  hours  have  quickly  fled, 
And  I  a  stranger  to  those  walls? 

And  can  it  be  those  elm-hung  streets, 
And  Phillips'  ever  cherished  green, 
90 


REMEMBRANCE.  91 

This  day  another  throng  now  greets, 
And  we  forgotten  on  that  scene? 

And  can  it  be  I  walk  no  more 

The  Eddy's  sacred,  cool  retreat; 
Nor  Exeter,  with  fern-fringed  shore, 

Where  oft  I've  fled  the  summer's  heat? 

No  more  I  hear  thy  whispering  pine, 

Sweet  stream,  nor  rowlocks'  hoarse  reply : 

Ah  !   ne'er  again  they  will  be  mine, 
Save  on  the  page  of  memory. 

No  more  upon  thy  placid  wave 
In  listless  mood  I  downward  float; 

No  more  therein  these  limbs  I  lave, 
And  hear  the  partridge  drum  his  note. 

No  more  on  Squamscot's  heaving  tide 
In  idleness  we  downward  float ; 


REMEMBRANCE. 

No  more  we  swim  his  current  wide, 
Nor  listen  to  the  boatman's  note. 

In  joyful  mood  another  band 

Again   will  course    each  winding  street, 
Nor  think,  alas  !   a  foreign  land 

Owns  one  who  sighs  o'er  memories  sweet. 

Anew  each  rural,  fond  retreat 

With  boyish  pride  and  zeal  explore, 

In  blessed  ignorance  repeat  - 

The  games,  the  songs  we've  sung  before. 

The  ocean's  low  and  distant  moan, 
As  heard  full  oft  on  Bunker  Hill, 

Has  lost  the  solemn,  deep-mouthed  tone 
That  made  my  schoolboy  heart  to  thrill. 

Within  those  classic  halls,  beyond 

The  boundless,  heaving  ocean's  breast, 


REMEMBRANCE.  93 

This  day  is  heard  the  footsteps'  sound 
Of  more  —  and  we  a  tale  at  best. 

My  midnight  lamp  another's  page 
Now  lights  within  my  cloistered  cell; 

While  I  upon  life's  pilgrimage 

Have  journeyed  long  where  strangers  dwell. 

Oh,  these,  all  these,  I  know  no  more  ! 

I  only  feel,  too  deeply  feel, 
That  youthful  joys,  alas  !    are  o'er, 

And  nought  this  heart-sickness  can  heal. 

O  Time  !   give  back  those  days  of  yore, 

With  each  secluded  rural  scene, 
Upon  my  native  distant  shore, 

Where  memories    will  long  be  green. 

O  Time  !   give  back  those  hours  of  joy 
That  gild  with  gold  fond  memory's  sky, 


94  A   REPLY. 

When  each  was  nothing  but  a  boy, 
And  school-days  never  knew  a  sigh. 


O  God  !   it  breaks  my  heaving  heart, 
As  now  I  backward  look  on  thee, 

Sweet  scene,  and  we  so  far  apart, 
To  know  thou'rt  lost  for  aye  to  me. 


A   REPLY. 

"  T3UT  Codrus  was  a  poet, 

And  all  the  townfolks  know  it; 
None  other  pens  such  lines 
The  human  heart  defines 

With  master  skill, 

With  master  skill." 


A   REPLY.  95 

"Your  paper  now  can  boast 
Nought  but  our  poet's  ghost; 
And  all  are  sickly  lines, 
Round  which  his  shadow  twines, 

To  give  them  life, 

To  give  them  life." 

But,  John,  I'll  pit  the  nation 
Against  your  conversation, 
That  labors  on  and  on, 
While  hearers  yawn  and  yawn: 

You've  ta'en  too  much, 

You've  ta'en  too  much. 

For  Codrus  still  doth  write 
Those  lines  you  call  so  trite, 
Such  paltry  schoolboy  stuff, 
In  measures  rude  and  rough, 

That  has  no  thought, 

That  has  no  thought. 


96  A   REPLY. 

The  trouble  is,  your  pate, 

Where  partial  judgment  sate, 

And  bigotry  most  foul 

Doth  thrive,  and  feed,  and  growl, 
Is  fogged  with  wine, 
Is  fogged  with  wine. 


MARY. 

"Through  the  blue  deep  them  wingest." 

SHELLEY. 

A  ND  my  love  has  left  me, 

And  my  heart  is  sad, 
And  it  has  bereft  me  : 
Would  that  I  were  dead ! 

And  the  bells  ring  dreary, 

And  the  night  is  dark; 
And  I  drift  a-weary 

In  my  lonely  bark. 

And  that  star  above  me, 

And  its  silver  beam, 
And  her  heart  that  loves  me, 

Call  me  o'er  life's  stream. 

97 


MARY. 

And  my  heart's  deep  longing 
And  her  calling  hand 

Are  no  earth's  belonging, 
But  of  spirit  land. 


CREW    SONG. 


OWIFTLY  glides  our  gallant  crew, 
Strong  of  bone  and  tough  sinew, 
Down  the  winding  Charles, 
Down  the  winding  Charles  ! 


Sweat  is  on  each  manly  brow : 
Like  an  arrow  flies  our  prow 

O'er  the  waters  blue, 

O'er  the  waters  blue. 

How  each  blade  the  water  ploughs  I 
How  the  strokes  our  blood  arouse, 

Sweeping  on,  darting  on, 

Sweeping  on,  darting  on  ! 

99 


100  CREW  SONG. 

Onward,  onward,  now  we  glide 
O'er  the  river's  heaving  tide, 
Keeping  time,  beating  time, 
To  our  oar-blades'  merry  rhyme. 


GATHERING    FAGOTS. 

/CHILDREN  are  here  from  the  wood 
^""^    Poverty's  children  are  they, 
Bringing  for  many  a  rood, 

Bringing  with  toil  all  the  way, 
Stowing  behind  in  the  garth, 
Fagots  to  feed  the  lone  hearth. 

Chilling  the  winds  are  now  here, 
Breathing  from  out  the  cold  vale; 

Night-time  is  hastening  near, 
Wasting  their  visages  pale. 

Homeward  they  wearily  go, 

Chilled  by  the  wind  and  the  snow. 

JOI 


102  GATHERING  FAGOTS. 

Squamscot  with  banks  that  are  lined, 
Crowned  with  the  wealth  of  the  year, 

Asks  as  it  leaves  them  behind, 

Pleads  with  the  rich  that  are  here, 

All  through  the  wintery  hour, 

Care  for  the  child  of  the  poor. 


MY    LOVE. 

r  |  "'HRICE  welcome  guest,  my  love,  this  morn  : 
These  hours  of  sadness  that  hang  round, 
And  shroud  each  day  with  robes  of  thorn, 
Thy  presence  hurls  upon  the  ground. 

With  thee  to  be,  commune  by  night 
Alone  with  thee,  has  been  my  joy; 

In  loneliness  with  thee,  how  bright 
The  world  of  woe  !   no  pangs  annoy. 

I  love  thy  presence  by  the  stream 
When  all  is  still  save  Nature's  voice, 

When  nought  intrudes,  when  silvered  beams 
Of  midnight's  moon  my  soul  rejoice. 

103 


104  MY  LOVE. 

Thy  presence  by  the  lake's  clear  sheen, 
Thy  holy  impulse  in  the  mount, 

Thy  mighty  awe,  thy  sombre  mien 

Where  ocean  rolls,  my  joy  doth  count. 


HARVEST    FESTIVAL. 

"  Dulce  periculum  est, 

O  Lenae,  sequi  deum." 

HORACE. 

"^  yi  7HEN  fields  are  shorn,  and  mows  are  filled, 

'Tis  meet  to  gather  round 
The  harvest-feast,  put  off  all  cares, 
And  shut  out  labor's  sound. 

Before  the  rowen  needs  the  scythe, 

And  cider-presses  call 
The  farmer  to  his  task,  'tis  fit 

To  feast,  both  one  and  all. 

Just  as  the  pear  with  mellow  cheek 
Vies  with  the  barley's  yellow, 

105 


106  HARVEST  FESTIVAL. 

And  melons  great  and  rich  are  ripe, 
'Tis  good  to  get  right  mellow. 

When  nuts  are  falling,  —  hazel,  all, 
From  beech  to  great  walnut, — 

And  early  leaves  have  strewed  the  ground, 
'Tis  right  —  get  drunk  —  all  but. 


MY    ANGEL    SLEEPS. 

"  Our  life  is  twofold :    sleep  hath  its  own  world, 
A  boundary  between  the  things  misnamed 
Death  and  existence." 

BYRON. 

TV  /TY  angel  sleeps,  and  doth  not  hear 
Her  lover's  softly  whispering  call. 
The  spirit  wafts  around  and  near 

Its  nightly  flight,  beyond  the  pall 
We  blindly  name  mortality. 

The  flesh,  the  spirit's  casket,  lies 
Inwrapped  in  sleep  mysteriously. 

Nor  could  her  spirit's  mystic  ties 
With  that  we  slumber  call  commune, 

Were  I  to  press  these  burning  lips 
To  hers,  and  slake  my  heart;    but  soon 

Will  spirit  that  now  flits  and  skips, 

107 


MY  ANGEL   SLEEPS. 

Released  from  burdening  transient  clay, 
Takfe  on  its  mortal  guise,  and  beam 

Its  love  on  me.     I  thought  delay 
To  clasp  in  fond  embrace  did  seem 

To  starve  my  yearning,  burning  love; 
But  let  her  wearied  form  repose. 


'TIS    SWEET. 

J  /HTV[S  sweet  to  hear  the  voice  of  one 

We  love,  a  friend,  or  cherished  tone 
Of  her  that's  more  to  us  alone 
Than  all  the  world  beside. 

'Tis  sweet  to  hear  the  welcome  call 
Of  him  who's  been  our  stay,  or  all; 
Yet  sweetly  sad  doth  ever  fall 
His  parting,  fond  adieu. 

'Tis  pleasant,  as  we  stroll  along 
The  bank  of  childhood's  brook,  among 
The  scenes  that  call  in  memory's  throng; 
But  ah,  how  sad  to  leave  ! 

109 


HO  '7YS  SWEET. 

We  love  to  hear  the  swelling  strain 
Of  music  as  it  falls,  again 
To  rise  on  evening's  glad  refrain; 
But  sweetly  sad's  the  dying  sound. 

Tis  sweet  to  dream  of  childhood's  scenes, 
Again  to  walk  adown  the  green 
And  lovely  vale  our  youth  has  seen : 
We  can't  believe  we're  old. 

On,  on,  we  dream,  in  fond  deceit, 
Nor  once  e'er  think  it's  childhood's  cheat, 
Till  oh,  the  dream  with  dainty  feet 
Has  fled,  and  we  awake,  how  sad  ! 


LONGING. 

A   ND  shall  my  love  forever  be 
^~~*~    Unfed?    And  shall  the  cursed  ties 
Of  sin  we  call  society 

Restrain  this  passion  of  the  skies? 

I  saw  her  pass  with  angel  grace  : 

My  lovesick  eyes  did  look  and  turn; 

For  halo  sat  upon  that  face, 
As  if  mortality  to  spurn. 

And  I  did  love,  as  oft  before; 

But  ah  !    too  fiercely  flamed  the  fire 
Within  the  torch  I  madly  bore 

On  to  my  passion's  funeral  pyre. 


LONGING. 

Yet,  Venus  like,  though  often  chilled, 
My  love  forever  shall  remain; 

Flame  on,  flame  on,  nor  e'er  be  skilled 
With  guile  to  forge  the  tempter's  chain. 

O  heavenly  flame  !     O  child  of  light ! 

This  sinful  world  were  paradise, 
If  thou  didst  always  reign  in  might, 

Nor  veil  thyself  within  the  skies. 


EPIGRAM. 

\T  7HEN  gray-haired  men  of  fifty-five 

Pair  off  with  maids  of  twenty, 
God  bless  their  souls  !    and  may  they  thrive ; 
But  men  should  be  more  plenty. 


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